


hold tight, wear something white

by mimizans



Category: Glee
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana's fingers are soft, but her smile is all blood and rough edges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold tight, wear something white

Santana’s fingers are soft between Quinn’s legs, but her smile is all blood and rough edges. Quinn is always getting caught on that smile at the most unexpected moments, in places where anyone could see and know. In crowded hallways or glee practices, with their friend’s eyes all around them. Wanting Santana is too hard by half, even when they’re alone. Like now, in a darkened movie theater, when the flyaway strands of Santana’s hair are lit up by the shoddy, sputtering projector.

Quinn forgets to stifle her moan when Santana bites at the juncture of her neck, but it’s all right. They’re by themselves.

Santana moves her mouth to Quinn’s ear, sucks on the lobe because she knows it makes Quinn wet. And Quinn can feel it, the way that light suction and hint of teeth is making the slide of Santana’s fingers easy. 

Quinn hates this, hates the way Santana’s teeth and tongue and fingers can make her forget the prim folds of her skirt and the orderly fall of her hair and make her want nothing more than to push into the heat of Santana’s body. Santana is horrible and wretched and dangerous, and Quinn knows all of these things, knows them intimately. But then Santana smiles at her in a dark room, and crooks her finger, and it’s all Quinn can do to keep breathing.

Santana smiles against her ear, a grin that Quinn can feel in her cunt. “Do you want my mouth on you?” Santana asks, and it’s too loud, even if they’re alone. The whole world has heard the question, and Quinn fears the whole world will hear her answer. So she nods, and tries not to let out the shuddery breath that’s collecting in her chest. 

Santana slips out of her chair and onto the floor, and Quinn watches as she brings her fingers up to her lips, the fingers that were inside Quinn. Santana licks them delicately once, her eyes trained on Quinn’s fluttering lashes, then sucks them into her mouth. Quinn can’t look, can’t see this, so she shuts her eyes and sinks further into her chair.

Santana pushes Quinn’s skirt up to the tops of her thighs, and Quinn can feel cool air on her cunt, cool air and Santana’s warm breath. Quinn breathes out once, steels herself, and then Santana’s mouth is on her, that horrible, dangerous smile pressed much too close to Quinn’s skin. Santana’s tongue works inside her, sucking her clit, licking every bit of wet heat she can reach, and Quinn is making noises, high keening slips of words and soft gasps of tangled syllables. Quinn can’t get Santana’s name out because she’s too busy imagining how wet Santana’s mouth will be when she pulls away, the salt of her own body that Quinn will be able to lick away from Santana’s upper lip.

Santana reaches a hand up and slips it inside Quinn’s bra. Quinn moans when Santana drags her nail over the nipple, and moans louder when Santana pinches the nub between her fingers.

Quinn’s moans echoes in her own ears, and wonders what she must look like right now, with her skirt pushed up and Santana’s dark head between her legs, a manicured hand teasing her nipple and her eyes glossy and barely open. She wonders what it would be like if everyone could see this, could know that this is something that she wants, something that she does.

Santana sucks hard on her clit and slips two fingers back inside Quinn, moving them fast and sure. Quinn slides her fingers into Santana’s hair and pulls her head up. “Kiss me,” she says, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of Santana’s wet mouth. Santana smiles, razor-sharp, and meets Quinn halfway, her fingers still moving in Quinn’s cunt. 

Quinn tastes her herself in Santana’s mouth, the salt of her mixed with the cherry of Santana’s lipgloss. She sucks on Santana’s tongue and feels her orgasm building sharply, the pulse of near release sweet and and inevitable.

“I’m so close,” Quinn whispers against Santana’s mouth. Santana kisses her, hard, then moves her mouth to Quinn’s ear.

“Then come,” she says, loud again, so loud. She bites Quinn’s earlobe, sucks it into her mouth, and her fingers are still inside Quinn, in and out and right where Quinn needs them. 

“Oh, oh, Santana,” Quinn grinds out, and then she’s coming, her face pressed against Santana’s hair, her body clenching around Santana’s fingers. 

Quinn’s head falls back against the seat and she opens her eyes. The film is still rolling behind Santana’s head, and the light is catching the dust in the air, making it shine like glitter. Santana bares her teeth at Quinn, happy and wicked. And they’re alone, so Quinn smiles back.


End file.
